


Post-Hibernation Cinnamon Rolls are the Best, Wouldn’t You Agree?

by blynk_kitt



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Brunch, Fluff, Gen, Geralt is limited to just “hmm” because there will be no cursing in front of the moomins, Geralt is not intimidated, Geralt is very polite, Geralt is very tol compared to the moomins, Moominmamma is perfect dont @ me, No one asked but here it is, Pappa and Mamma make cinnamon rolls together, Snufkin has a knife, Snufkin is ready to throw down, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:14:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23218312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blynk_kitt/pseuds/blynk_kitt
Summary: When Snufkin sees the man on horseback with two swords, he is quick to raise the alarm all throughout Moominvalley.When Moominmamma sees the man on horseback with two swords, she asks if he would like to come to brunch.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 73





	Post-Hibernation Cinnamon Rolls are the Best, Wouldn’t You Agree?

**Author's Note:**

> Nobody:
> 
> Not a single soul:
> 
> NOT ONE BEING IN EXISTENCE, IN ALL OF TIME, IN ALL OF SPACE:
> 
> Me: geralt and mooomins munch on brunch uwu

Moomin is waiting on the bridge for the mellow notes of Snufkin’s harmonica. Winter is over, and Snufkin should be here today. He’d waited all day yesterday, but Mamma had said that it would be today, and Mamma was always right.

And sure enough, as a warm breeze ruffles through Moomin’s fur, Moomin can hear footsteps. Snufkin’s here! he thinks. But no, there’s no harmonica. Perhaps Snork Maiden, also excited to see her human friend. But no, these footsteps are coming way too quickly, someone is shouting.

“Moomintroll! Moomintroll!”

And that voice definitely belongs to Snufkin.

Snufkin is so excited to see him that he is running. The thought sends Moomin’s heart skipping.

So why does Snufkin sound so panicked?

Moomin’s already running off the bridge, down the path, into the trees when Snufkin tumbles into view, sprinting straight for him.

“Moomintroll!” Snufkin shouts. He beelines straight for Moomin.

“Snufkin!” Moomin says. He opens his arms to embrace Snufkin, but Snufkin just grabs his hand and pulls him towards the Moomin house. Snufkin’s hat is missing, his eyes are wide and his breathing is ragged as he drags Moomin to the bridge.

“There’s no time, Moomintroll!” Snufkin says. “You’re all in danger!”

Moomin tries to keep up with his human friend. “What?” he says. “Danger? What are you on about?”

“You have to hide!” Snufkin says. “Where’s Moominpappa and Moominmamma?”

“Pappa’s upstairs, working on his memoir,” Moomin huffs. They reach the porch steps and Snufkin keeps pulling him along. “But Mamma is over visiting Mymble.”

“Then she’ll be alright, as long as she stays _there,”_ Snufkin says. He glances back down the path before slamming the door behind them. “I will barricade the door. You and Moominpappa must hide.”

“Why?” Moomin says.

Snufkin grabs a chair and props it against the door, then another. “There’s a bad man,” Snufkin huffs as he drags the kitchen table over against the door. “He’s a killer. He hunts… folks like you.”

Moomin blinks. What does Snufkin mean, folks like him? Why would anyone want to march into Moominvalley and come after his family?

“Well, hello, Snufkin!” Pappa says, coming down the stairs. “How was winter?”

Snufkin stands in front of the door, pulling a little carving knife out of his pocket. “Don’t worry, Moomintroll,” he says. “I’ll hold him off.”

Moomin rushes up the stairs and Pappa says, “What’s going on?” as Moomin yanks him back up and into his room. Moomin rushes to the window, keeping as much of his head below the window as possible while he looks out on their front yard.

“Moomin, what is going on?” Pappa asks.

“Snufkin says there’s someone after us.”

“After us?” Pappa says. “What would anyone want with a Moomin? Ah, Mamma’s cinnamon rolls, I’m sure. I’d certainly kill for one—my post-hibernation cravings just get stronger every year. When do you think Mamma will be back with the ingredients from Mymble?”

Moomin’s heart sinks. “She’s back,” he says. Mamma is walking out of the woods, arms full of flour, cinnamon, and some fresh fruits from Mymble’s garden. She steps onto the bridge, and Moomin stands up, ready to shout out to warn her to hurry into the house.

Mamma stops, and glances behind her.

Out of the woods, emerges a horse and a rider. The rider is in all black, studded leather armor, and has a sword strapped to his back. He dismounts when he sees Mamma, taking the horse by the reins and leading it over.

“Hello, dear!” Mamma says.

Moomin is shaking. This man is dangerous and Mamma has no idea—what if he—? The man is coming closer, he’s almost to the bridge.

“I haven’t seen you around Moominvalley!” Mamma says. “What brings you down our way?”

“I’d heard there were some dangerous beasts in this valley.”

Mamma laughs. “Oh, no! Not unless you count Moominpappa if he doesn’t get these cinnamon rolls!”

Behind Moomin, Pappa grumbles: “she’s right, you know! I don’t see what all this fuss is about.”

“You must have the wrong valley,” Mamma says. “Have you eaten? No? Why don’t you join us for brunch and we’ll get you straightened out. Now, would you mind—?” Mamma holds out the box of fresh fruits to him, and he takes it slowly, like he’s not quite sure why he’s doing it. “Thank you dear, my arm was getting tired.”

Mamma has faced down the dangerous man, invited him to brunch, and now he is carrying what will be brunch into their house—!

The horse stays out by the bridge, but when the man and Mamma go up under the porch Moomin can’t see them anymore. He does hear Mamma push at the door.

“Hm, that’s funny,” Mamma says. I can’t get the door open. Perhaps Moomin has built a fort.”  
Mamma steps back into Moomin’s line of sight, looking up towards his window. “Moomin! Can you come open the door for me?”

Moomin ducks down. He has to do something! Warn Snufkin? Go out to Mamma? Yell at her to run away as fast as she can?

Pappa steps around Moomin and pokes his head out the window.

“Pappa, no!” Moomin hisses.

“Hello, Mamma!” Pappa shouts down at her, waving. “Moomin and Snufkin are playing some kind of game; I believe Snufkin has barricaded our door. Don’t worry, I’ll let you in. I won’t wait a moment longer for your famous cinnamon rolls.”

“Thanks, dear!” Mamma says. To the man, she says: “that’s my husband. He’s always very hungry the week after hibernation.”

“Hmm,” the man says.

Pappa hops over to the door, whistling at the thought of brunch.

“Pappa, no!” Moomin says.

“Don’t be rude, we have a guest,” Pappa says. He trots down the stairs, Moomin right on his tail. Snufkin is still standing before the front door, tense, little carving knife in his hand.

“Snufkin, Mamma’s back with brunch. Let’s let her in.”

“Moominpappa, you don’t understand,” Snufkin says. “I’ve heard about people like him—”

“Seems a decent gentleman to me,” Pappa says. “We shouldn’t judge folks based on what we hear about them.”

Snufkin shakes his head as Pappa drags the furniture away from the door. He doesn’t say anything, but he does not put away his little knife.  
Pappa opens the door, and Moomin stares at this dangerous man.

He’s tall—towering over Moomin and Snufkin, and much taller than both of Moomin’s parents. His golden eyes dart around the house, like he’s looking for a threat, assessing whether the Moomin house is safe. The armor makes him look bigger, tougher—but the box of colorful fruits in his arms kind of offsets his aesthetic.

In his glance around for threats, he missed Snufkin.

Because Snufkin jumps him.

One moment Snufkin is standing calmly beside Moomin, the next he’s sprung into the air, leaping straight toward the man in the doorway.

The man does not even drop the box of fruits. He steps neatly to the side, using his free hand to pluck Snufkin out of the air by his poncho, and just kind of holds him there as Snufkin points the knife at him.

“I know what you are,” Snufkin hisses. “And I won’t let you hurt the Moomins!”

“Snufkin!” Mamma gasps. “He’s not usually like this,” she says to the man. “His father’s usually the more feral one…”

“I am a witcher, yes,” the man says, “but I haven’t come to harm anyone.” As Snufkin stops squirming, he sets Snufkin on the ground. Snufkin does not jump again, but he doesn’t put away his knife. “I’ve been told there were monsters here in—”

“—Moominvalley—” Mamma says.

“—yes. But I have been assured there are none. I’ll be on my way, then.” He holds the box of fruit out to Mamma.

“Nonsense,” Pappa says. “You’ve been invited to brunch and are our guest.”

“Moomin, Snufkin, be respectful of our guest,” Mamma says. “Games are fun, but we shouldn’t play them at other’s expense. Especially not—I’m sorry, dear, what was your name?”

“Geralt. Geralt of Rivia.”

“Well, we’re happy to have you, Geralt,” Mamma says.

Snufkin rolls his eyes and crosses his arms with a huff, and Moomin copies him, a little uncertain on whose side he should take. So far Geralt hasn't done anything, but Snufkin is his best friend and he has to support him.

“Moomin, Snufkin, entertain our guest while Mamma and I make brunch,” Pappa says.

“Be _nice,”_ Mamma adds.

Moomin and Snufkin guide Geralt into the living room, where he sits carefully on the couch, which he seems a little too large for.

“I’m watching you, witcher,” Snufkin hisses.  
From his angle, Moomin can see Geralt hide an amused smile behind his hand.

“So, Mr. Rivia,” Moomin says, crossing his arms. “What kind of monsters did you hear were in Moominvalley?”

Geralt shifts uncomfortably on the couch. “Large ones. Aggressive. Hungry.”

“Well, clearly no one here matches that description,” Snufkin says.

“I agree,” Geralt says.

“Glad we’re on the same page, witcher,” Snufkin says.

The question leaves Moomin’s mouth before he can stop it. “Have you met a lot of monsters?”

Snufkin whirls on him, looking betrayed.

“I have,” Geralt says.

“What kinds,” Snufkin says. It’s not a question. It’s a challenge.

“Vampires—”

“Not real,” Snufkin says.

“Dragons—”

“Not real,” Snufkin says.

“Snufkin, don’t you remember last spring when I found the—” Moomin says.

“Strigas.”

Snufkin unfolds his arms, looking curious and annoyed and annoyed that he’s curious.

“What’s a striga?” Moomin asks.

“I don’t think I should tell you,” Geralt says. “Your mother might uninvite me from brunch.”

“We won’t tell,” Snufkin says. “Well, I won’t tell as long as you don’t hurt the Moomins.”

“Hm,” Geralt says, unconvinced.

“Please?” Moomin says.

* * *

By the time brunch is ready, Moomin and Snufkin have had a crash course in monsters of the world.  
“I once caught a dragon!” Moomin says, as he sits at the table. “Didn’t I, Snufkin?”

“It was quite small; are all dragons that small?” Snufkin asks Geralt.

Geralt doesn’t answer, just gives the two a cryptic smile as Mamma sets down a plate of cinnamon rolls on the table. Each one is dusted with powdered sugar and a honey glaze, with strawberries and blueberries in a bowl to the side.  
Pappa takes off his apron and takes his own seat at the table, and Mamma does the same, scooting in beside him.

“Alright,” Mamma says. “What a happy table! Snufkin, Geralt, thank you for joining us.”

“Yes yes,” Pappa says, already taking a sticky roll and placing it on his plate. “Let’s eat.”

And they do.

“Geralt, teach me how to use a sword!” Snufkin says, popping a strawberry into his mouth.

“Me too!” Moomin says.

Geralt glances over at Mamma, and Moomin stares at her hard. Please say yes, Mamma, please say yes, he thinks.

Mamma does not look up from her plate. “Sticks only. After brunch.”

“Yes!” Moomin says, exchanging a grin with Snufkin.

“And,” she adds, “after you’ve cleared the table. And washed your plate, and our guests’s plates.”  
Moomin slumps in his seat.

Snufkin shoves the rest of his roll in his mouth, and grabs his plate and runs into the kitchen. Moomin follows suit, and starts scrubbing his plate in the kitchen sink.

“Thank you,” he hears Geralt say from the other room. “You’re both very generous.”

“You’re welcome to stay for dinner too, if you haven’t found those monsters yet.” Mamma says.  
Snufkin dries both plates and slides them both back into the cabinet.

“Thank you,” Geralt says again.

Moomin and Snufkin rush back into the dining room. Geralt still has half a cinnamon roll on his plate—like all grown-ups, he ate _so slow_.

“Don’t hurry him,” Pappa says.

“You two should go find your sticks,” Geralt says. “And check in on Roach. Maybe, if you find her a really nice patch of grass, she’ll let you have a ride?” The last part comes out as a question, aimed at Mamma.

“It has to be a very _safe_ patch,” she says.

“I know exactly the right patch,” Moomin says. He grabs Snufkin’s hand. “And it’s right next to that old oak tree! There’s bound to be some good sword-sticks there.”

Moomin and Snufkin tumble out the door, ready for today’s adventure.


End file.
